


Relationship Status: It was always about you

by jeyhawk



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-15
Updated: 2011-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 05:14:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeyhawk/pseuds/jeyhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>College AU.</i> The one where Eduardo works at the campus coffee shop and Mark doesn't understand the concept of love at first sight. Coffee, code, Facebook and love (not necessarily in that order).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://inbetweencabs.livejournal.com/profile)[**inbetweencabs**](http://inbetweencabs.livejournal.com/), [](http://cabayuki.livejournal.com/profile)[**cabayuki**](http://cabayuki.livejournal.com/), and [](http://elizaria.livejournal.com/profile)[**elizaria**](http://elizaria.livejournal.com/) for alpha reading and encouragement, and as always to [](http://sbb23.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://sbb23.livejournal.com/)**sbb23** for being amazing. What would I do without you guys?  <333

There's a twenty-four hour coffee shop on campus. It's not the sort of place Mark would normally frequent because normal, for him, means Kirkland and unless he can avoid it, class, but apparently Mark on a coding tear makes hooking up awkward and he has been banned. Mark doubts that Dustin will manage to hook up with anyone, Mark or no Mark, but Chris might and it's not like Mark wants to listen to their grunting anyway.

The coffee shop is the kind of place that attracts philosophy students, and art students, and other people that can't shut up, but that is, in Mark's opinion, why god invented headphones and blessed him with the ability to completely shut out the outside world.

He finds a table at the very back, sinking down into a comfortable armchair and setting his laptop down before him. He slides his headphones on, opens up the screen, and lets himself fall face first into the code, fingers dancing across the keyboard like _Flight of the Bumblebee_ played at breakneck speed. (There was a video, Dustin made him watch it, the image has been stuck in his mind ever since.)

\--

He doesn't know how long he's been out of it, but the coffee shop is considerably less crowded when someone taps his shoulder, forcing him to look up from the screen. A guy is standing next to the table, tall and whipcord lean with a black apron tied around his slim waist. His mouth is moving, but Mark can't make out his words over the music and he reluctantly pushes the headphones down to hug his neck.

"I said," the guys says, as if he's already on his seventh repeat. "It's considered common courtesy to order something if you're going to take up a table for hours at a time."

"Oh." Mark looks down on the screen again, fingers already poised to type; after a moment, he puts the headphones back on.

The guy sighs and throws his hands up. Mark doesn't look after him as he leaves.

\--

A cup lands on Mark's table, put down with enough force to make something that looks like coffee slosh over the edges. It's the guy again, bringing Mark a drink he didn't order. Mark looks at the cup and then up at the guy. He has ridiculous hair, Mark notices, and brown eyes under bushy eyebrows. He seems to be waiting for something.

Mark takes a hesitant sip from the cup; it's coffee, dark and bitter. He puts the cup down again.

"Not enough sugar," he says.

\--

The sugar package hits him square in the forehead. He only looks up for long enough to dump it into his coffee. He writes another few lines, barely noticing when a spoon lands in his cup, making drops of coffee stain the front of his shirt. He stirs and takes a sip; much better.

The next time he looks up the coffee is long gone and the guy is sitting at his table, an economics textbook open in front of him. Mark squints at the giant clock on the wall behind the guy's head, 5 AM, which means he could probably head back to Kirkland. His eyes fall to the guy again, noticing the nametag pinned to his shirt. It reads Eduardo in messy black script and it's just a piece of paper, not even stuck into one of those plastic holders.

He rolls the name over in his mind; Eduardo – Italian, maybe Spanish – the sort of name that comes with golden skin and brown eyes. He thinks about looking it up, looking _him_ up, but a line of code catches his eye and he falls right back into it.

\--

The next time Mark looks up Eduardo is staring at him. When he realizes that he has Mark's attention his eyes flicker down to his impromptu nametag and then back up at Mark, pointed stare directed at Mark's chest as if he expects Mark to have a nametag too. Mark doesn't have a nametag because he doesn't work here. He wouldn't work here even if they paid him which he supposes that they would, if he worked here.

He wonders how much Eduardo makes and if it's really enough to pay for a shirt as impeccably cut as the one he's wearing. Mark doesn't know much about clothes, close to nothing actually, but he knows _class_ and Eduardo's shirt has that in spades.

After a moment he reaches for his bag, finds a black marker and a piece of paper that supposedly holds some sort of assignment he should be working on. He folds the paper into a triangle and writes Mark in big block letters. The ink bleeds through the paper and onto the table; he pretends not to notice as he assembles his sign and turns it over to face Eduardo.

Eduardo smiles at him, mouth forming words that might be a greeting but that could as well be the opening lines of a dissertation in Greek. Mark watches his lips move. Eduardo's upper lip is unusually curved, tilting upwards at the corners as if he's always caught halfway to smiling. Mark stares at it for another moment before his eyes drop back to the screen.

\--

An hour later a sandwich magically appears on the table. He eats it, casting a furtive glance towards the counter. Eduardo is busy with a group of customers; eyes alight as he laughs at something one of the girls in the group said. Mark can't know for sure that it was her, of course, but one of them has long dark hair and a plush pink mouth. She looks like the kind of girl someone like Eduardo would laugh with: pretty, petite, and possibly clever (Mark doubts it).

There's something written on the girl's cup when Eduardo slides it across the counter. It could be the order, but it could also be a phone number. Mark reaches out and crumples up his name sign, dropping it on the floor next to his bag. He turns the volume up until his eardrums are thrumming with it, the deep throbbing beat rattling his brain, and goes back to coding.

\--

"Music that loud really isn't good for you, okay?"

Eduardo is standing by the table again, Mark's headphones dangling from his hand. Mark feels oddly disconnected, fuzzy somehow, maybe that's why he doesn't immediately yank the headphones back and tell Eduardo to mind his own fucking business. Instead he reaches out and lowers the volume, until the tinny music spilling out of the headphones is barely perceptible.

Eduardo smiles, it makes his eyes sparkle, but it's not quite as impressive as the way he laughed for that girl.

"So what are you doing, anyway?" He nods towards the computer.

"Coding," Mark answers, snatching his headphones back even if it's too late to be upset about it now.

"What kind of coding?"

Mark explains, in excruciating detail, the kind of detail that makes even Dustin's eyes glaze over, but Eduardo just keeps smiling at him. He waits until Mark's tumble of words slows to a stop before he speaks.

"But why?" he asks, as if that's in any way a valid question.

Mark stares at him for a moment. "Because I can," he says simply and slides the headphones back on.

\--

Eduardo's shift ends at 8 AM Mark knows this, because Eduardo comes over to say goodbye, dark suit jacket tugged over his shirt and a leather bag slung over his shoulder. He looks like an economics major, a _rich_ economics major, and Mark wonders what he's doing working in the campus coffee shop.

"You should get some sleep," he says, smiling a little when Mark acknowledges him.

Mark's music is still turned down, he realizes, the coding a sufficient distraction from the increased level of noise now that the campus is waking up. He blinks up at Eduardo, who's still standing there, looking as if he just fell out of one of those fashion magazines Chris jerks off to and not as if he just finished a god-knows-how-many-hours shift.

"Yes," he admits.

As soon as he looks away from the screen the weariness settles in his bones, shoulders hunched and aching, eyes stinging, which is why he doesn't look away from the screen unless something, or in this case someone, makes him.

"Come on," Eduardo says, still smiling. "I'll walk you to your dorm."

It is _the_ most ludicrous thing anyone has ever said to Mark, including Dustin, so there's really no explanation as to why he closes his laptop and grabs his bag, following Eduardo out of the coffee shop.

Eduardo talks the entire way across campus. Mark isn't really listening, the code still running through his mind, but he likes the cadence of Eduardo's voice. It's good to think to, better than music even, and he absently wonders if it would be creepy to record it and play it on a loop when music just doesn’t cut it.

"So anyway," Eduardo says, stopping below the stairs to Kirkland House. "That's my story."

"Oh," Mark responds, trying to rewind the conversation in his head. Maybe there was something in there to explain why Eduardo just walked him, Mark Zuckerberg, home, as if they are stuck in an old-fashioned movie.

Eduardo smiles at him, as if he knows full well that Mark wasn't paying attention and says, "My next shift's on Tuesday."

"I pity you," Mark says, because that's what he thinks and his thoughts have a disturbing tendency to go verbal.

Eduardo laughs, a full belly laugh, throwing his head back to reveal his really long neck. Mark isn't comparing or anything, but he's pretty sure it’s a fuller laugh than the girl got.

"See you around, Mark," he says and then he's walking away.

\--

Mark doesn't actually plan on going back to the coffee shop, not on Tuesday, not _ever_ , but amazingly enough Dustin actually did hook up with a girl and they're going out on Tuesday night, which means both Mark and Chris are asked, in not-so-polite words, to vacate the premises.

Chris heads over to Billy's room, ostensibly to watch a movie, but when he asks Mark if he wants to tag along Mark mutters something about having work to do and some nonsense about the coffee shop being a good place to get things done. It's not really a conscious choice, the words slip out of his mouth unchecked, but once they're out there he's not going to take them back.

"The coffee shop?" Chris frowns.

"Yeah," Mark says flippantly, as if he's the kind of guy that doesn't want to stab himself in the eye when surrounded by too many people. "It's kind of dead at night."

"Quiet," he adds after a moment, as if that will make Chris stop staring at him.

"Oookay," Chris says, drawing the word out in a highly annoying way. "You know where to find me if you change your mind."

\--

Mark changes his mind about ten times on the way over, but he's so not going to slink back to Kirkland with his metaphorical tail between his legs. He changes his mind yet again when he walks in and is met by _mayhem_. Almost all the tables are occupied, by loud people, probably stupid people, people Mark would very much prefer to never see again, or now, come to think of it.

He turns on his heel and steps back outside. The air is getting cooler, chilly through his threadbare hoodie and on his feet, bare in his flip flops; cold enough that his breath almost turns to mist where it puffs out of his mouth. He goes for a walk.

The place is no less crowded when he comes back, but before he can escape Eduardo comes out from behind the counter and thrusts a coffee cup into his hands.

"Your table's free," he says, nodding towards the back.

Mark wants to point out that the fact that he sat there once before doesn't make it _his_ table, it barely sets a precedent, but Eduardo's smiling at him and his hair is ridiculous and somehow Mark finds himself following him further into the chaos.

\--

The place clears out after 1am, group after group dropping off until Mark and Eduardo are the only ones left. Mark wonders why they insist on having it open twenty-four hours when there are hardly any customers after midnight, but when Eduardo settles down at his table and pulls out a laptop of his own, he decides to not question it.

Mark always checks other people's computers, it's a thing; kind of like he imagines librarians check people's bookshelves, or fashion designers look in people's closets. He stares for a while at the _thing_ on the table before Eduardo.

"I really hope you're working here to save money for a new computer," he says.

Eduardo looks up. "There's nothing wrong with this one."

"It's _embarrassing_."

Eduardo's lips curl, as if he's barely holding back a smile.

\--

At some point Mark pushes his headphones down to rest around his neck and he never gets around to pulling them back up. Eduardo keeps talking at him, not to him because that requires some kind of input besides inarticulate grunts, but at him, a constant stream of idle chatter – the kind of nonsensical small talk that Mark usually hates, but somehow finds himself listening to anyway.

Eduardo's clever, Mark deduces that right away, probably not as smart as Mark, but clever enough to be interesting. Mark doesn't listen all the time, code has a tendency to steal his attention, but he resurfaces often enough to keep up with the monologue. Eduardo talks about his schoolwork, his textbooks, his professors and classmates, all things that are of little interest to Mark, but every now and then a nugget of real information slips out.

"Brazil, huh?" Mark lifts his eyes from the screen, letting them linger for a moment on Eduardo's hands before looking at his face.

Eduardo blinks. "I didn't think you were listening," he says.

Mark shrugs and goes back to coding. Eduardo was born in Brazil, he's Jewish, his family lives in Miami, his last name is Saverin and he is, indeed, an economics major. Mark likes being right.

\--

Around 2 AM a rowdy group spills in through the doors and Eduardo gets up to serve them. The sandwich fairy (who is most likely 6 feet tall and Brazilian) dropped off a sandwich while Mark was immersed in coding and he eats it while watching Eduardo work.

Mark is in no way an expert on baristas, or coffee shops in general, but it seems to him that Eduardo is not that good at his job; maybe there's a reason they stick him on the night shift. He fumbles and forgets things and makes hundreds of unnecessary trips back and forth between the counters. His lack of a system is really grating and after a moment Mark looks back at the screen, because code makes sense where Eduardo certainly doesn't.

\--

Around 4 AM Eduardo starts nodding off, waking up with a start every time his head falls forward. It's hilarious to watch him, even if there's no logical reason for Mark to be looking away from the screen, or even noticing. It's all very confusing.

"You can sleep," Mark says magnanimously, nodding towards the cushioned bench stretching along the wall. He figures that Eduardo will be less of a distraction that way even if he's not quite willing to admit that he is a distraction. Mark doesn't get distracted from coding, especially not by people with ridiculous hair.

"You sure?"

Mark shrugs; he offered didn't he? Eduardo looks at him for another moment before giving in and moving to stretch out on the bench. He pillows his head on his hands, smiling a little when he catches Mark watching him.

"Wake me if there are customers," he says.

Mark nods and looks away.

\--

Eduardo is a quiet sleeper. He doesn't snore, or snuffle, or make any kind of noise really. It's disconcerting and Mark finds himself glancing over every fifteen minutes, just to make sure he's still breathing.

There's only one customer between 4 AM and 6 AM and Mark deals with her on his own. She only wants a cup of regular coffee anyway and while he has to hack the cash register mainframe to be able to ring it up, she doesn't seem to mind the 30-second wait. She has long nails, painted a shiny silver that reminds Mark of his laptop. He watches her wrap her slim hands around the coffee cup and kind of idly wonders what they would look like wrapped around his cock.

For some reason his gaze strays to Eduardo, who's got one hand tucked in under his head and the other resting on his stomach; when he looks up again the girl is gone, the door falling shut behind her. He returns to the computer and settles down, bringing up a new window and idly designing a new security system for the cash register, and also, a stray line of code that would turn the items on the receipt into rude words.

He looks up at Eduardo for a moment and discards the window. It's probably one of those situations where no one would appreciate the fact that he was just trying to help.

\--

Eduardo wakes up with a start just after 6 AM, eyes huge and hair tousled.

"Whu?" he says, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth and pushing himself up. "Huh?"

Mark blinks at him, trying to make sense of the nonsensical thoughts running through his mind like disjointed lines of code. He notices that the third button of Eduardo's shirt has come undone, showing a glimpse of smooth skin, that his bottom lip is wet, that his hair is flat on one side, that his hands look fragile. He shakes his head, looks away, shrugs. He doesn't look back until Eduardo's sliding down into the other chair, stretching his arms above his head and yawning so wide that Mark can see his molars. He looks away again.

\--

Eduardo's replacements come in just before 8 AM, two girls in black shirts that awww over him and ruffle his hair obnoxiously as if manning an empty coffee shop all night is some sort of accomplishment. One of them gives Mark an odd look and bends forward to whisper something into Eduardo's ear that makes him flush pink and give her a light shove. In Mark's mind she topples over and cracks her head open on the floor. Sometimes Mark's mind isn't a very nice place to hang out.

He packs up the computer and slings his bag across his back. He's just about to leave when Eduardo comes back and somehow he ends up waiting for Eduardo to grab his stuff as well.

"My next shift's Thursday," Eduardo says when they stop outside Kirkland.

"Okay," Mark responds.

He takes the stairs two at a time.

\--

_Okay_ isn't a promise, it's not even close. Okay doesn't mean _'Yeah, sure I'd love to see you again,'_ and it doesn't even imply _'Of course I'll be there'_. Mark knows this because he has forgotten about enough promises in his life to be an expert on navigating the grey areas that don’t really promise anything. The areas that don’t have him falling out of a 36-hour coding tear to find someone looking at him with big hurt eyes and _but you promised_ tumbling from their lips.

_Okay_ doesn't mean anything so there's no reason for the way his stomach clenches with something remarkably close to guilt when he looks up from his computer to find that it's 2 AM.

Chris and Dustin are on the couch watching a Baywatch rerun, if the flashes of red and bouncing tits are anything to judge by. Empty Red Bull cans litter Mark's desk, crumpled wrappers are scattered on the floor, and a forgotten can of tuna stands open on the nightstand, absently left behind when a kitchen break turned into a bathroom break turned into code.

He scrubs at his eyes and cracks his neck, fingers poised to start typing again. He looks at the clock, 2:10.

Eduardo has really big eyes.

He didn't promise.

\--

3 AM.

"Fuck this shit," he mutters, slamming his laptop shut and yanking the power cord out of the wall.

"What?" Dustin asks, blinking sleepily. He has all but collapsed sideways, body bent awkwardly at the waist.

"I'm heading down to the coffee shop," Mark says, which is more of an explanation than he usually gives and it should be more than enough, but Dustin pushes himself up to gape at him.

" _What?_ "

"It's a good place to get work done," Chris fills in. " _Quiet._ "

"No, seriously," Dustin says. "What the fuck?"

Mark ignores them both, not even bothering to grab his bag on the way out.

\--

The coffee shop is almost empty when Mark arrives and Eduardo's slumped across the table, _Mark's_ table, fast asleep with his face wedged into one of his textbooks. He doesn't wake up when the door falls shut behind Mark; he really is a horrible employee.

There's a girl sitting at table by the window, curled up in her chair with a book open on her lap.

"Don't wake him up," she says sharply when Mark's flip-flops scuff against the floor.

Mark stops and stares at her. It's Laugh Girl from the other night; he almost didn't recognize her without the heavy makeup and fuck-me heels.

"He works here," he points out.

"He's exhausted," she counters.

" _Obviously_ ," Mark says dryly. People don't fall asleep with their nose in a book unless they're really short on sleep. He should know.

"It's all your fault anyway," she says bitterly, pushing herself up from the chair and slamming the book shut. "Everything was perfect before you came along."

Mark stares after her as she throws the shiny black curtain of her hair back over her shoulder and leaves.

"I'm a little scared of her," Eduardo says, coming up behind Mark and putting a hand between his shoulder blades.

Mark shrugs the hand off. "She's weird," he says. "And ugly," he adds, even though she really isn't.

Eduardo snorts, as if he maybe he doesn't agree and Mark pushes past him to take his usual seat.

"I didn't promise _anything_ ," he says curtly.

Eduardo's face scrunches up. "Huh?"

Mark ignores him, diving straight into the one thing in his life that always made sense.

\--

Eduardo is curious and he asks too many questions, about Mark's life and his friends and his schoolwork and _Mark_ that Mark, for the most part, doesn't answer. He's not stupid (far from it), he knows that people tend to like him a lot less once they've had a conversation with him, and he kind of wants Eduardo to like him, or at least not hate him, which also happens once people have had a conversation with him.

"You _really_ are the strong and silent type, aren't you?" Eduardo says after Mark has once again blatantly ignored one of his asinine questions. Why would anyone care what Mark was like in high school? Mark doesn't want to know what he was like in high school.

There are only so many things to say about weekends spent holed up in his room, toilet water dripping from his bangs, his mother's quiet worry, and the one time he almost got expelled for erasing every trace of the bullies' online records. They were never able to pin it on him, he was _way_ too smart for that, but everyone knew and it didn't exactly make his life _better_.

Mark holds one of his arms up. "Chicken arms," he points out and Eduardo laughs so hard he almost falls off his chair. It wasn't even that funny, but whatever, Eduardo is weird.

\--

"When's your next shift?" Mark asks when Eduardo starts gathering his textbooks, stuffing them into his bag with slow, almost sluggish movements.

Eduardo looks up. "I… uh…," He drops his bag on the floor. "Just a second."

He disappears into the kitchen, or what Mark presumes is the kitchen; he never bothered to explore.

"Saturday," Eduardo says when he comes back, out of breath. "My next shift's Saturday."

"I might not be here," Mark says, because that's better than 'okay' It's definitely not a promise.

"Oh." Eduardo looks… disappointed? Mark isn't very good at reading emotions; he never cared to look long enough at anyone's face to master it.

"I don't promise anything," he clarifies and for some reason that makes Eduardo smile, as if Mark _did_ promise something.

Eduardo puts his hand on Mark's back as they walk out. Mark doesn't shrug it off.

\--

"Who is she?" It's a non sequitur, even for Dustin, and Mark frowns at him, pulling his can of Red Bull closer when it looks as if Dustin might make a grab for it.

"Who is who, what?"

"At the coffee shop? Who is she?"

"There's no girl at the coffee shop." Mark scoffs, flinging his textbook to the side; he was only looking for an excuse anyway.

"Boy then," Dustin says, inching closer so that he's almost sitting on Mark's feet.

Mark pulls his feet away. "Eduardo?"

He realizes it's a mistake the moment the name drops from his lips, even before Dustin starts hyperventilating and squealing _ohmygod_ , in this really high-pitched and annoying way.

"Chris, Chris, ohmygod, Chris you gotta hear this."

Chris shuffles in from the living room, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. "What?"

"Mark…" Dustin pauses for dramatic effect, or maybe because he's choking up, sometimes it's hard to tell with Dustin. "Is _gay_."

"Are you insane?" Mark asks, kicking Dustin's thigh. "I'm not gay."

Sexuality, in Mark's opinion, is something that happens to other people, just like the bubonic plague and herpes. Mark's in a committed relationship with his right hand and he likes it that way.

"You sure?" Chris asks, leaning against the doorpost.

"Of course I'm sure." Mark huffs, reaching for his textbook again, because, seriously, schoolwork beats the hell out of this conversation.

\--

On Friday Mark eats lunch in the cafeteria with Chris and Dustin, and ends up arguing with Dustin, who should know better than to challenge _Mark_ when it comes to code. He's just about to end the argument with one last acerbic remark when Eduardo shows up.

"Hey." Eduardo smiles and Mark completely forgets what he was about to say.

Logically, he knows that Eduardo is a student, which means that Mark could run into him anywhere, but in his mind Eduardo is tied to the coffee shop and seeing him at the cafeteria just seems wrong somehow.

"You actually talk?"

Mark blinks. "Yes," he says. He has in fact talked to Eduardo plenty of times but he refrains from pointing that out, he's getting better at this social clues thing.

"So it's just me you don't talk to."

"Yes."

"Oh." Eduardo's face falls and Mark always thought that was an expression invented by writers of fiction with a little too much time on their hands, but Eduardo's face actually _falls_ , even his hair seems to droop and his mouth curls downwards. He nods a little, as if he made up his mind about something, and forces a smile, or maybe he doesn't force it but it looks forced and his eyes don’t light up.

"Okay," he says. "See you around, yeah?"

His gaze flickers to Chris and Dustin and then he's walking away. Mark is really not sure what just happened.

Chris cuffs him hard over the back of the back of the head and Dustin says, very seriously: "This is where you go after him."

Mark frowns, looking after Eduardo's retreating form. "Why?"

Chris throws his hands up. "Seriously, if you don't. _I_ will."

\--

Mark catches up with Eduardo in the main hall.

"Wardo," he says, the name tripping on his tongue and coming out wrong.

Eduardo stops and slowly turns around to face him, eyebrows drawn. "Mark."

Mark rock back on his heels and shoves his hands into his pocket. "I uh…."

He trails off, catching sight of their reflection in a nearby window, staring at the contrast. Eduardo's in black slacks and a grey shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, and a black suit jacket. He's slim but not skinny with golden skin and a narrow waist. Mark's hair is flat against his head, his hoodie too big and his skinny legs stick out of a pair of seasonally inappropriate cargo shorts. He's almost painfully pale.

Eduardo cranes his neck to see what he's looking at, smiling when he catches Mark's gaze in the reflection. Mark looks away.

"Okay, so here's the thing." Mark stuffs his hands deeper into his pockets. "You're weird."

Eduardo's eyebrows shoot up, but he looks more amused than surprised, maybe. It might just be his stupid mouth.

"People don't usually want me to talk to them, okay? It's... I'm not very good... at that."

"At talking?"

"At saying the right thing." Mark presses his lips together; he really doesn't like talking about himself. No one likes feeling inadequate and Mark even less so than most people.

"You've been doing pretty well so far," Eduardo says and yeah, he's definitely amused.

"Are you laughing at me?" Mark asks. He kind of wants to punch Eduardo in the arm, but he always hits too hard when he does that and he doesn't want to bruise Eduardo.

"With you," Eduardo corrects, and solves Mark's dilemma by bumping his shoulder.

Mark's mouth twitches and his stomach feels weird. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he says.

"About what?" Eduardo asks.

"Talking to me. If I hurt your feelings, it's all your fault."

Eduardo laughs, as if he thinks Mark is joking. Somehow Mark kind of wants to be.

\--

Mark ends up going to a party on Friday night; well, he makes a brief appearance at one because he forgot his keycard and has to borrow Dustin's. It's your typical college party, loud and obnoxious, and it smells vaguely like week-old gym socks and spilled beer.

Mark has to push his way past a game of beer pong, something that looks like a clothed orgy (probably the dance floor even if it doesn't look like _dancing_ to Mark) and a guy who passed out on the floor with a bucket over his head. Mark spares five seconds to see that his chest is in fact moving; he would (hopefully) feel horrible if the guy ended up being dead and he just stepped over him.

Dustin's tucked into a corner with Chris and Billy, quite obviously sulking into his beer. Mark almost changes his mind, he just knows he's going to get an earful of whatever woes Dustin is having and it's going to be painful and awkward and he won't know what to say. But if he's honest with himself it's not like he has anything better to do, no pressing schoolwork, no urgent coding needs. It probably won't hurt him to listen to Dustin's blabber for a few minutes; after all Dustin sometimes listens to him.

He changes his mind two minutes into Dustin's woes, but then it's too late to back out and Chris is giving him these looks, as if he's a proud parent or whatever. Mark inexpertly pats Dustin's back, almost making him choke on his beer, and makes some noises that are supposed to be consoling.

"I love you, Marky," Dustin says, wrapping an arm around Mark's neck and giving him a very uncomfortable hug. "You're a good friend."

Mark blinks uncertainly and pulls his lips into something he hopes at least resembles a smile. No one ever accused him of being a good friend before. He pats Dustin's back again, it seems like the right thing to do, and Dustin beams at him in a particularly watery way. Mark wonders if he's going to cry.

\--

Eventually Mark does get the key card and magically enough he doesn't end up pissing anyone off; not even the girl that plants herself on his lap and tells him she loves his curls, shamelessly grabbing a handful of them. She does look a bit surprised when she ends up on the floor, but Dustin consoles her, so Mark thinks that maybe it'll be a happy ending for everyone.

He's just about to leave, one hand on the door knob and the other stuffed in his pocket, when he spots Eduardo. He's talking to Laugh Girl; one of her hands is curled around his arm, and as Mark watches she leans in to whisper something into Eduardo's ear. It looks intimate, familiar, and Mark's stomach twists. He really doesn't like Laugh Girl.

Eduardo shifts, as if he's about to turn in Mark's direction, and Mark yanks the door open, almost jumping out into the hallway with his heart lodged in his throat. Life, he thinks, would be so much easier if you could handle your personal relationships online.

\--

On Saturday morning Mark wakes up with an idea. He finds a sketchbook buried underneath his textbooks for art history and scrawls out a quick sketch. The bare bones of a profile page, a few unrelated ideas, and something he decides to call The Wall.

He puts the sketchbook down and pulls up the Kirkland facebook on his computer, staring at the way the people he sometimes runs into in the halls decide to represent themselves. _The_ Facebook, he thinks, the entire social experience of college, but put online. His skin feels too tight and for a moment he can't even breathe. He's onto something.

\--

The next time he looks up from the computer screen it's after midnight and he's dizzy with a combination of raging hunger and too long spent staring at characters climbing across the screen. TheFacebook is nothing but bones, pages upon pages of notes and code, ideas for how to tie it all together, how to make it _work_.

He staggers to his feet, every muscle in his body protesting, and his shoulders popping when he rolls them back. He shuffles into the living room where Chris and Dustin are piled up on the couch.

"Coffee," he grunts, as if they asked for an explanation, and grabs his hoodie from the hook beside the door.

His feet know the way to the coffee shop by now, carefully picking their way around snow drifts and spots of ice. He wraps his arms tight around his torso and tries not to think too much about what he's doing or why.

\--

Eduardo's behind the counter when Mark walks in, serving a rowdy group of students who look as if they're headed for a party. Mark stares for a moment at the number of tanned bare legs displayed among the girls and decides that they're either crazy or from California. Probably both.

He nods at Eduardo and walks over to the usual table, sinking down into the comfy blue armchair he's beginning to think of as his. The coffee machine churns and hisses; Mark's head hurts.

He startles awake when Eduardo shakes his shoulder, big brown eyes blinking down at Mark with something that might be concern.

"Hey," Eduardo says. "Are you okay?"

"Are you dating the crazy girl?" Mark asks.

Relationship status, he thinks, reaching up to grab a pen from Eduardo's breast pocket and scribbling it down on the back of his hand.

"Christy?" Eduardo asks, frowning. "She's just a friend." He catches Mark's hand and turns it over to study the scribble. "Relationship status?" he asks.

Mark stares at Eduardo’s long golden fingers against his skin. Eduardo's hands are warm and soft, nails short and well kept. He wonders if Eduardo gets manicures.

He tells Eduardo about TheFacebook, words coming out in a rushed, excited tumble. He doesn't think he makes the idea justice, but Eduardo smiles at him, as if he's brilliant, and Mark trails off into a confused mumble, staring up at Eduardo's pretty face.

"Did you eat today?" Eduardo asks. He's still holding Mark's cold hand between both of his.

Mark shakes his head.

"I'll make you something."

\--

Eduardo returns to his spot behind the counter and another group swarms in. Mark grabs a discarded napkin; he still has the pen.

_Relationship status:_ , he writes. Then, _Single_. Underneath he scribbles, _Interested in:_. He taps the back of the pen against the table and cranes his neck to look at Eduardo, taking in the long line of his throat, the swoop of his hair, the intricate curve of his mouth and the way his eyes light up when he smiles.

Mark swallows, mouth suddenly dry. _Men_ , he writes.

\--

Eduardo brings back a huge plate of pasta and big cup of coffee, sinking down into the chair opposite Mark, as if Mark might not eat if Eduardo isn't there to watch him. Mark's mouth waters and he shoves his mouth full of too-hot food, flushing when Eduardo laughs at his sputter.

"Shut up," he mutters, taking a little more care with the second bite.

He eats mostly in silence, trying to not dwell on the fact that he just had some kind of sexual epiphany about four years too late. (Mark's not certain but he thinks that most people realize that they're gay around the time they're fifteen and popping boners looking at ice cream. He could ask Chris, but he's pretty sure he'd rather drown himself in a bucket of piss.)

"Good?" Eduardo asks when Mark pushes the empty plate away and leans back with a groan.

"Amazing," Mark answers, even though he has no idea what he just ate.

"Want some pie?"

Mark pats the swell of his stomach. "Yes, please," he says.

\--

It's cherry pie, served warm with a mountain of ice cream and whipped cream. It might be the best thing Mark's ever eaten and he mumbles as much with his lips wrapped around the spoon. Eduardo flushes, and looks away, the tips of his ears turning pink. He really is stupidly attractive.

\--

"So… uh… when's your next shift?" Mark asks, when dawn starts creeping across the floor.

Eduardo scrubs a hand over the back of his neck and ducks his chin. "I… uh… I don't have a next shift." His ears turn pink.

"They fired you?" Mark asks. He's not surprised; while Eduardo is clever, he's not a very good barista, and he keeps stealing food to feed Mark.

"Uh… no… I… I don't actually work here."

Mark raises his eyebrows. If Eduardo doesn't work here he's the best imposter ever, right down to the apron and the awesome customer service.

"I mean, obviously I work here right now, but I was just helping a friend out of a tight spot. She… uh… she needs this job and they wouldn't give her time off if she couldn't find someone to take her shifts so…," Eduardo shrugs and blushes some more.

"Great," Mark mutters, stabbing a finger at his napkin. "So you're a saint too."

Someone-who-looks-like-Eduardo dating someone-who-looks-like-Mark vaguely falls within the realm of possibility. Mark might be deathly pale and completely lacking anything that resembles style, but he has pretty good features and his body isn't repulsive. He's not a golden god, obviously, but it's possible. Hot guys have ugly girlfriends all the time.

Eduardo, the saint, dating Mark, the social leper, is a lot less likely. Eduardo is so effortlessly nice, and attentive, and _nice_. Mark isn't any of those things and while he might be willing to try it out, it's not like he's going to learn how to not be offensive within the next twenty-four hours, even if he asks Chris to give him a crash course.

"I'm not a saint," Eduardo says, laughing. "My thoughts are way too dirty for that."

Mark flushes, and fidgets, and wonders if Eduardo will be able to see his boner through the table. Eduardo probably doesn't have dirty thoughts about him anyway; Mark knows he's not exactly wet dream material.

"I… uh… I should head back to the dorm," Mark says.

"Oh, of course," Eduardo says. "I… uh… yeah."

Mark scribbles down his dorm number on a napkin before he can talk himself out of it.

"You should come by," he says, pushing the napkin across the table. "Sometime."

Eduardo flushes and worries at his lower lip in a way that is certifiably adorable. "Okay," he says, folding the napkin up and stuffing it into his pocket. "I will. Uh… tomorrow?"

"Sure," Mark says.

Eduardo laughs and produces a slip of paper, writing something down on it with his spare pen. "Here," he says.

It's his phone number and Mark feels kind of dumb for not thinking of that.

"Thanks," he says, slipping the note into his pocket. "So… uh… tomorrow?"

"Okay."

Mark wonders if all social interactions are this awkward or if he's just special.

\--

It's not until Mark's halfway back to the dorm that he realizes what else was written in the napkin he gave Eduardo. He trips over his feet and nearly brains himself on the sidewalk, scrambling to his feet with a hectic flush rising in his cheeks. What's he supposed to do now?

Chris and Dustin are, of course, entirely unhelpful. Dustin runs around singing _I told you so_ and Chris laughs so hard he turns blue. Mark locks himself in his room and codes.

\--

Mark surfaces eight hours later, bleary-eyed and annoyed, because someone's banging on the door. The room's empty – he vaguely recalls Chris saying shouting something about going out – and as he shuffles across the floor he designs a quick plan for how to kill the intruder and put the blame on Dustin.

He yanks the door open, his best glare firmly in place, and ends up eye to throat with Eduardo. Mark blinks, and flushes, and sways a little on his feet. Eduardo's holding a greasy paper bag and a six-pack of beer, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Hey," he says. "I… uh… wasn't sure if tomorrow was tomorrow or later today so I… uh…"

Eduardo trails off, looking uncertain and Mark steps aside to let him in.

"Uhm… welcome," Mark says.

His stomach grumbles at the sight of food and he realizes he hasn't eaten since the cherry pie. He also hasn't slept in close to thirty-six hours, but that's usually less of a problem. He doesn't remember about the note until he's pushed Eduardo down on the couch and ventured into the kitchenette to look for clean plates.

"Fuck," he mutters, banging his forehead against the cupboards.

"You okay?" Eduardo calls from the living room.

Mark doesn't bother to answer. There's barely enough room to stand in the kitchen, the likelihood of him sustaining serious injury while looking for plates is less than zero. Of course Eduardo doesn't understand, because he turns up to hover in the doorway, cutting off the light falling in from the living room.

"Let me help," he says.

There's a huge pile of dirty dishes in the sink, take-out containers all over the counter, and something blue and possibly scaly lives in the fridge. Somehow Eduardo ends up cleaning, with his shirt sleeves pushed up above his elbows and soap studs on his skin, while Mark naps on the couch. Mark doesn't know how that happened either.

\--

Mark wakes up to the sound of laughter, mingled laughter, Eduardo's and Dustin's. He sits up straight, blinking rapidly. Eduardo and Dustin are cleaning out the fridge, sleeves rolled up and piles of trash bags around them on the floor. Mark scrubs a hand over his eyes, but they're still there when looks up again.

"What the fuck?" he says faintly, letting himself drop back against the cushions.

"Mark, seriously," Chris hisses, reaching over from the armchair to clutch at Mark's arm. "If you don't marry him, I will."

Mark shrugs his arm off and glares. "We're not dating," he mutters.

"He's cleaning your _kitchen_ ," Chris hisses, doing weird things with his eyes, as if he actually expects Mark to pick up on non-verbal communication.

"Maybe he's a stickler for cleanliness," Mark hisses back.

"Then what on earth is he doing with you?" Chris asks.

It's a valid question without a satisfactory answer.

\--

It turns out to be a good night, if weird, all four of them eating reheated Chinese food on sparkly clean plates. Eduardo sits next to Mark on the couch, sleeves still pushed up, and every now and then Mark finds himself staring at the dusting of hair covering his muscled forearms. They talk about school, and people, and books, and TV and a million other things that Mark doesn't normally talk about, but that are somehow made interesting by Eduardo's input.

"So why business?" Chris asks, leaning back in the armchair and eyeing Eduardo in a way that Mark really isn't comfortable with.

Eduardo shrugs. "Because I'm good at it."

Mark doesn't think that's the full story and surprisingly he finds that he wants to know the rest. It's like Eduardo is a program and Mark wants to break him up into chunks of code to understand how it all fits together.

\--

Mark walks Eduardo downstairs when it's time for him to leave, hands stuffed deep into his pockets and shoulders hunched.

"Thanks for the food," he says. "And uhm… the cleaning."

"No problem," Eduardo answers, smiling. He's pulled a jacket over his shirt and Mark misses the sight of his forearms.

"So… uh… about that note I gave you," Mark says, focusing very intently on the floor. "It wasn't… I mean… I wasn't hitting on you. It was just an idea. For TheFacebook."

"Oh," Eduardo says, and Mark can't tell if he's relieved or disappointed.

Eduardo rocks back on his heels and Mark smiles stupidly and the silence stretches out.

"So," Mark starts, biting down on his lower lip. (How do people do this? How do they make friends with people who are not forced to spend time in their company?) "You're welcome to stop by anytime," he finishes lamely.

"Okay," Eduardo says and he smiles a whole lot wider than the situation calls for. Mark hopes that means he'll be coming back.

"I mean the bathroom's pretty nasty…"

Eduardo laughs and squeezes Mark's shoulder and Mark feels warm inside for hours afterwards.

\--

Mark throws himself head first into building TheFacebook, only pulling himself away from the computer for class, food and occasionally sleep. He enrolls Dustin to help him code and appoints Chris his PR man, but in reality there probably wouldn't even be a site without Eduardo.

Eduardo is the cog that makes the machinery work; he makes sure Mark sleeps, eats, and drinks something that isn't beer, Red Bull, or coffee. He's the only one that can pull Mark out of a coding tear, hands gentle as he drags Mark from the computer to bed, or put something to eat into his hands. His smile is fond but exasperated as he makes Mark drink water and orange juice, and occasionally take a vitamin supplement, or a piece of fruit.

When Mark worries about financing, Eduardo puts up the funds. When Mark runs into a problem, Eduardo listens, for hours if he has to, until Mark runs out of words and the solution presents itself. Eduardo doesn't know shit about code, but he understands people in a way that Mark never did, and between the two of them TheFacebook grows from a simple idea to a blue and white reality.

\--

Mark can easily do forty-eight hours with nothing but bathroom breaks, Eduardo draws the line at twenty-four.

"Okay," he says now, sitting cross-legged at the edge of Mark's bed. "It's break time."

Mark ignores him, because sometimes it works.

"Come on." Eduardo sounds immensely cheerful. "Let's go outside."

That gets Mark's attention; he pulls his eyes away from the screen and blinks blearily at the window. "It's night," he points out.

"Doesn't mean some fresh air won't do you good."

Mark considers this, staring at the lines of code running down his screen. "You know I'm not going to get scurvy, right?"

"Not on my watch, that's true," Eduardo answers, and somehow Mark lets himself be pulled away from the blinking cursor.

\--

"See, this is nice," Eduardo says. He's holding a cup of steaming coffee between his hands, smiling at Mark over the rim.

Mark grunts in response, sipping from his own cup. The night is chilly, but the coffee is warm and Eduardo is pressed up all along his side, some of his overzealous body heat seeping into Mark's cold skin.

"It's almost done," Mark says, mostly to stop himself from saying something that will give too much away. He's getting really good at having conversations around the things he doesn't want to admit.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"That's awesome."

Eduardo slings an arm around Mark's shoulders in an awkward half hug. Mark doesn't protest when he leaves it there.

"So how much longer?" Eduardo asks.

Mark shrugs. "A week maybe," he says. "Two at most."

"Awesome," Eduardo says again.

Mark leans his head against Eduardo's shoulder, just a little bit.

\--

Mark finds a typo in Dustin's code when the site is almost done and he just blows up. He doesn't normally show a lot of emotion and he doesn't ever shout, but he just loses it, pouring all of his frustration and anger and stress into one continuous string of curse words and accusations that actually makes Dustin duck for cover.

"That's enough," Eduardo's voice cuts through the rage and Mark spins around to face him.

"He… he…"

"I said, that's enough," Eduardo repeats.

Mark swallows. Eduardo looks serious, calm but deadly serious, and it feels as if he just stabbed Mark in the back. He's supposed to be Mark's friend, he's supposed to take Mark's side, he's not supposed to show up dressed in his evening finest and defend _Dustin_ when Mark needs him so very much. When Mark… Mark…

Mark doesn't even bother to grab a shirt before he runs.

\--

Eduardo catches up with him halfway across campus. Mark's stopped running by then, walking with his head ducked low and his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans.

"You're being ridiculous," Eduardo says.

He's out of breath and his hair is a disorderly mess. Mark looks away and keeps on walking.

"Come on." Eduardo holds out Mark's jacket. "At least put this on."

Mark ignores him. He kind of wants to hit Eduardo in the face, or grab his ears and kiss him, and he's not going to do either of those. He's just going to keep on walking until his skin feels as if it fits him right again.

Mark had a best friend in middle school, Ben. They were next door neighbors and from kindergarten through middle school they did everything together. Then high school happened and on the second day Joe Miller grabbed Mark by the scruff of his neck and dunked his head into a toilet. When Mark stumbled out of the bathroom, soaking wet and bleeding from a cut above his eye, Ben was the first one to point and laugh.

Mark kind of feels like that now.

Except not at all.

\--

"You're not going to get rid of me, you know," Eduardo says after five minutes spent walking in silence.

Mark's teeth are clattering and he's pretty sure there's actual frost forming in his hair. He keeps on walking.

\--

"Why do you have to be so goddamned difficult?" Eduardo snarls, and before Mark's had a chance to move away, Eduardo has grabbed his arm and is dragging him towards the doors to Eduardo’s dorm complex. Mark hadn't even noticed they were in the vicinity and now he's halfway up the stairs.

He's too cold and too miserable to protest, not even trying to wrench his arm out of Eduardo's punishing grip even though he's fairly sure he could.

\--


	2. Chapter 2

Mark ends up on Eduardo's bed, wrapped in three blankets and Eduardo's arms.

"Sometimes I just don't know what to do with you," Eduardo mumbles with his mouth against Mark's ear.

Mark pushes his face into the pillows and tries to ignore the way his heart pounds. The pillows smell like Eduardo, sweet and spicy with a hint of citrus. It doesn't make his heart slow down.

\--

Mark wakes up in the middle of the night, baking under the blankets and with Eduardo curled up against his back.

"Wardo," he whispers.

"I'm awake," Eduardo answers. "Don’t' even think about running again."

Mark is in Eduardo's bed, in Eduardo's _arms_ , and friends don’t do that. Do they? Mark's not an expert on friendship, but he's pretty sure that cuddling isn't normally a part of it, but then this is _Wardo_ , and he's not like anyone Mark ever met before.

He makes sure Mark eats, sleeps and drinks, and he doesn't complain when Mark only talks in monosyllabic grunts for days on end. He doesn't understand code, but he still wants to be _Mark's_ friend. He defended Dustin but Mark was, in retrospect, behaving like an asshole.

"I'm an asshole," Mark says. His throat feels scratchy.

"Not all of the time," Eduardo answers.

Mark never figured himself to be the type to like cuddling, as opposed to just tolerating it, but this is nice – safe – and he doesn't really know what to do with that. He's too hot, face flushed and sweaty, but he doesn't want to move because if he does Eduardo might let go of him.

He thinks idly about going to sleep like this every night, tangled up in blankets and Eduardo's long limbs, and his stomach does some sort of flip-twist thing that makes him feel warm inside too. He tangles his fingers into the sheets and tries to go back to sleep, but he's wide awake now.

He starts talking, because he's safe here in this cocoon of blankets and arms. He can say whatever he wants. He tells Eduardo about Ben, and about high school, because he wants Eduardo to know, wants him to _understand_. He's not even sure Eduardo's still awake, but somehow it doesn't even matter. He just keeps talking until his voice turns hoarse and dawn creeps across the sheets.

Then he sleeps.

\--

Mark apologizes to Dustin, grudgingly, and then he wires in, going on a 36-hour coding tear that Eduardo doesn't even try to pull him out of. He just shows up occasionally, making sure there's food and water; the rest of the time he leaves Mark to it.

TheFacebook goes live close to midnight on February 13th, 2004. Eduardo's there, sitting cross-legged on Mark's bed, with a bottle of beer clutched between his hands. Mark doesn't know where Chris and Dustin are. Maybe they decided to start the celebration early.

"That's it," Mark says, voice gravelly with lack of use. "It's live."

The link has been emailed to Eduardo's Phoenix Club mailing list and from now on it's a waiting game to see if anyone signs up. Mark looks away from the screen, swiveling his chair to face Eduardo. It's the first time he's looked at Eduardo's face since their little talk the other day.

Eduardo smiles and puts the empty bottle down on the floor. Mark flushes for no particular reason, thinking about the other night, and Eduardo's arm wrapped around him.

"Wanna go out for drinks?" Eduardo asks. "I'm paying."

Mark shakes his head, staring at the curve of Eduardo's mouth. He swivels the chair back to the computer and brings up his own TheFacebook profile. He stares at it for a moment, wondering if it's too much or if Eduardo's even going to notice.

He closes it down, turning back to face Eduardo; Eduardo's still smiling, hands clasped loosely on his lap, and his shirt gaping open at the neck. Mark stares at the shadowed line of his collarbone and wonders what it tastes like. There's a lump of nerves at the pit of his stomach and his fingers are itching to bring up his profile and remove the code tweak that makes sure Mark's profile doesn't look like anyone else's.

He could say it out loud, or write it on a note and slip it under Eduardo's door. He could hire a plane and write it across the sky, or he could ask Eduardo out, properly, on a date. He doesn't do either of those things. Instead he lies down on the bed and waits for Eduardo to stretch out beside him, like he does sometimes when he wants to make sure Mark stays in bed and doesn't sneak back to the computer.

"Tell me a story," Mark mumbles, settling down on his stomach with his arms tucked in under the pillow.

His bed is too narrow for two people, Eduardo a warm line against his side.

"About what?" Eduardo asks.

Mark closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Tell me about your father."

Eduardo does, in slow, halting sentences, expanding on a story that is probably as old as humanity. "I just want to make him proud," Eduardo sighs, voice tense. "But sometimes it feels like… whatever I do, it'll never be enough."

"Then he's an idiot," Mark mutters, halfway into the pillow. "He should be proud of you all the time."

Eduardo doesn't answer, but Mark can feel him relaxing against his back.

\--

Mark Zuckerberg

 **Relationship Status** : Single  
 **Interested In** : Eduardo Saverin

\--

Mark hates Valentine's Day. HATES IT!

"So, Christy asked me out."

Mark's fingers slip across the keys, adding a nonsense string of letters to his code tweak. "Oh," he says. "Are you going?"

Eduardo shrugs. Mark clenches his teeth together and brings up his profile. It takes less than five seconds to erase the code that it took days to be brave enough to add.

"Have fun," he says tightly, reaching for his headphones.

Mark really hates Valentine's Day.

\--

"You removed it."

Dustin face looks like an emoticon, a sad emoticon with a lone tear on its cheek.

"Wardo's going out with Christy."

"Oh." Dustin's face looks even more depressed, like a kicked puppy or a wet kitten. "Did he see it?"

Mark shrugs.

\--

For the first time in Mark's life coding doesn't make his brain shut up, instead it only serves as a backdrop for his increasingly morose thoughts about Eduardo and Christy. He sees Eduardo's lips against hers, Eduardo's golden fingers tangled in her long black hair, he sees her ankles linking behind the small of Eduardo's back while Eduardo…

Mark pushes back from the computer with a snort of disgust. He's hard and miserable and most likely too much of an asshole to deserve Eduardo anyway. He wonders if Christy knows about Eduardo's father, if she understands like Mark does, if she wants to wring his neck like Mark does. He wonders if she'll give herself completely like Mark would, and if she'll love him… like Mark does.

\--

Chris and Dustin are on the couch, sharing a bowl of popcorn between them, watching some stupid movie. Mark sinks down onto the edge of the couch, staring blindly at the TV screen.

"I'm…" He swallows and takes a deep breath. "I really, really like Wardo," he says. It feels huge, monumental, to admit it out loud, as if the air has been sucked out of the room and his chest is too small for his heart. "And… uh… TheFacebook gained almost 100 followers overnight."

 _'Recognition'_ , Mark thinks. _'Acceptance. Fame.'_

He repeats it over and over in his head, like a broken string of code or a repeating algorithm. He's on the verge of realizing all of his dreams, he knows that he is, so why does it all feel so… pointless. He should have hired that plane; then at least he'd have known for sure Eduardo saw it.

Chris reaches out to touch his hand, but Mark yanks it away, shaking his head. "I'm going out," he says.

\--

He ends up at the coffee shop, sitting at his table with the laptop open before him. He's looking at the user statistics, watching the number of users grow by the minute as TheFacebook ripples across campus. He's nursing a cup of coffee, the first one he ever paid for in here.

"Awesome job with TheFacebook," someone says, giving Mark a thumbs up. Mark thinks that maybe they have a class together.

"What's TheFacebook?" someone else asks, and Mark watches as someone pulls up a laptop and TheFacebook _grows_.

Mark pens down his very first status update: _I'm watching history unfold._

He curls his cold fingers around the red clunky coffee cup and thinks about Eduardo pelting him in the head with a sugar package, Eduardo sleeping on the bench along the wall, Eduardo making coffee and plying Mark with cookies; Eduardo smiling, and laughing, and curling his fingers around Mark's shoulder.

Mark borrows a pen from the counter and grabs a napkin from the dispenser. It takes ten seconds to pen down his message.

He swings by Eduardo's dorm on his way back to Kirkland and slips the napkin under the door without knocking. Then he goes home, dumps the laptop on the table, and faceplants onto the bed.

\--

When Mark wakes up it is dark outside and Eduardo is in bed with him. Mark blinks a couple of times, but Eduardo's still there, eyes dark and liquid in the sparse light. The TV is running in the living room, and he can hear someone banging around the kitchenette. The toilet flushes, the floorboards creak and Eduardo's still right there.

"How was your date?" Mark asks, because that's what friends do, or so he's been told.

Eduardo barks out a short laugh and holds up the napkin. "What's this?" he asks.

"A napkin," Mark says.

It's wrinkled and the letters have bleed into the material, but Mark can still read what it says.

_It was always about you._

"Mark." Eduardo blows out a breath. "You know what I mean."

"Well, if _you_ don't know what _I_ mean then what the hell are you doing here?" Mark counters. "You were on a date," he adds, because he thinks it's important to point that out.

Eduardo scrubs a hand through his hair. " _Mark…_ "

"A _date_."

"Fine." Eduardo rolls over on his back and crosses his arms over his chest. "And how long are you going to punish me for that?"

"Depends on how long you're gonna keep dating her," Mark says, because obviously he's in love with an idiot.

Eduardo blows out a breath through his teeth and curses in Portuguese. "I'm not _dating_ her," he says. "We had one drink."

"That's one too many," Mark says stubbornly.

" _Mark_."

" _Wardo._ "

They meet in the middle. It's awkward and fumbly and Mark doesn't know what to do with his hands, but Eduardo kisses like he means it, cupping Mark's face between his palms and pressing tiny kisses to his lips until Mark finally gets the hint and parts them for Eduardo's tongue. It's slick and slow and Mark wraps his arms around Eduardo's back, fisting his hands into Eduardo's shirt.

It's odd and a bit slimy and Eduardo has enough stubble to make the skin around Mark's mouth burn, but it's also the hottest thing that ever happened to Mark, hands down. Eduardo's mouth tastes a bit like beer and a lot like him and Mark feels the flare of desire down to his toes.

"God, you're so…" Eduardo mumbles, sinking his fingers into Mark's curls. "Jesus."

Mark makes a noise, it's very undignified, and digs his fingers into Eduardo's back. Eduardo kisses him again, lazy and thorough, licking the roof of his mouth, his teeth, his tongue.

"I wonder how many users TheFacebook has now," Mark says when they break apart and Eduardo buries his laughter into Mark's neck. It's kind of perfect.

"You can check if you want," Eduardo says. "I don't mind."

Mark licks his lips and stares at the curve of Eduardo's mouth. He wonders if it's a trick question.

"Go on," Eduardo says, giving Mark's shoulder a light shove. "Check it."

Mark has just settled into his desk chair when Dustin sticks his head in through the half open door. "We're ordering Chinese," he says. "Want some?"

"Sure," Eduardo says.

He's spread out over Mark's bed, hands folded beneath his head and his shirt rucked up across his stomach. Dustin looks at him and then at Mark, who flushes helplessly, and then back at Eduardo.

"Chris," he shouts. "You owe me money, bitch."

Chris appears in the doorway too, giving Eduardo a narrow eyed look. "Oh, fuck you," he says.

Eduardo laughs and flips them off, and Mark blushes some more.

"645 registered users," he says, biting down on his lower lip. "And growing by the minute."

He lets Eduardo pull him back down on the bed and they spend the time until the food arrives lazily making out with the door still open. Then they sit next to each other on the couch, eating Chinese food and watching whatever movie happens to be on. Mark has no idea what the plot is, except that it seems to be centered on a ferret, and his stomach flutters every time Eduardo touches him.

It's a good night, easily the best he’s ever had.

\--

TheFacebook spreads like wildfire and within two weeks it's all over campus and Mark is _famous_. Not that Mark cares much; he always knew he had it in him. Instead he spends most of his time wired in, fixing bugs and tweaking code, to make sure that the site continues to run smoothly.

"I spend so much time talking to your back that sometimes I see a mouth between your shoulder blades," Eduardo remarks one morning.

He's spread out on Mark's bed, surrounded by textbooks, and he doesn't sound angry but it still makes Mark's fingers falter against the keys. He looks over the code and hits Ctrl + S before swiveling around to face Eduardo.

"Hey," he says.

Eduardo grins, dropping his book to the bed. "Hey."

It's a good thing, Mark thinks, that Eduardo doesn't seem to realize just how much of Mark's attention he has these days because it could potentially mean bad things for TheFacebook. It's like Mark partitioned his brain, there's one part dedicated to TheFacebook and code and occasionally schoolwork, and there's one part dedicated solely to Eduardo.

Eduardo slides off the bed and plants himself on Mark's lap, legs dangling on either sides of his thighs, and it might just be the hottest thing that ever happened to Mark. Mark slips his hands around Eduardo's waist, pressing his fingers into the small of his back, and Eduardo leans forward, resting their foreheads together.

His breath is warm and spicy against Mark's face, hands tight on Mark's shoulders, and Mark tilts his head back, bringing their lips together. They kiss for a while, slow and sweet and so fucking good. Eduardo links his hands against Mark's neck and Mark curls his hands around Eduardo's slim hips, pulling him in closer.

Mark's so hard it almost hurts, and he would maybe feel embarrassed about that if he didn't know Eduardo is just as hard, cock straining against the impeccable cut of his pants. He kisses the corner of Eduardo's mouth, his jaw, the long line of his neck and Eduardo tilts his head back with a choked-off groan, fingers digging into Mark's skin.

"Don't," he murmurs weakly, biting down hard on his lower lip when Mark licks at his collarbone.

Mark slides his hands down, cupping the perfect globes of Eduardo's ass and he wants. He just _wants_ so damned much.

"No," Eduardo says, and Mark lets go of him so fast he almost topples over.

"Sorry," he mutters, wrapping his arms around Eduardo's waist and leaning his forehead against his immensely tempting collarbone.

"I have class," Eduardo says, his voice low and rough, making Mark's stomach tighten with another bout of helpless need.

"Okay," Mark says, swallowing thickly.

Mark really needs a relationship handbook, because he's pretty sure he's doing _something_ wrong. Eduardo keeps cockblocking them and sure, they said they'd take it slow, but there's slow and then there's _dead_.

"You should come over to my place tonight," Eduardo says, carding his fingers through the hair at the nape of Mark's neck.

Mark makes a noncommittal sound. He's not overly fond of Eduardo's dorm and the WiFi reception is crap.

"Or you could come here," he says and Eduardo makes a pained sound against his ear.

"Seriously, Mark," he mutters. "Do I need to send a gold-embossed invitation?"

Mark lifts his head to look at him. Eduardo's face is red, even his ears are glowing, Mark frowns. Eduardo glances at the door, left ajar as usual, and bites down on his lower lip.

"I don't like your dorm," Mark says. "It's depressing."

"I have a _single_ ," Eduardo enunciates, and Mark thinks that's a really weird emphasis because that's exactly why Eduardo's dorm is _depressing_. That and the communal kitchen -- Mark hates that place, people yell at him when he takes things from the fridge.

Eduardo chuckles, but it sounds more tired than amused, and slips off Mark's lap, gathering his books from the bed.

"See you after class," he says, coming over to press a kiss against Mark's temple and then he's gone. Mark touches his fingers to the spot Eduardo kissed for a moment and stares after him.

\--

Mark spends most of the day in a coding daze, they're already thinking about expanding to other schools and he needs everything to be _perfect_ , but Eduardo manages to lure him out in to the living room for dinner and later to bed. Mark's bed isn't built for two people, but it's not as if he minds cuddling. He's found that the nights Eduardo doesn't stay over, he simply doesn't go to sleep until he faceplants onto the keyboard, because the bed feels too empty without him.

They kiss for a while, slick and lazy, and Mark slips his hands in under Eduardo's shirt to palm at his stomach.

"Mark," Eduardo hisses when Mark's fingers stray dangerously close to the waistband of his shorts, and Mark makes an apologetic sound, moving his hands to Eduardo's back instead.

"It's like you don't even want to have sex with me," he mutters.

"Seriously," Eduardo says. "Why do you think I keep trying to get you to come to my dorm? Not to show you my etchings, that's for sure."

"You have…"

"No, Mark, I don't have etchings."

"But why can't we have sex here?"

Mark knows he's whining, but he likes his bed, and it's not like Chris or Dustin never had sex in their rooms. It's the sort of thing you get used to when you share with two other guys. Eduardo doesn't answer for a moment, winding Mark's worn t-shirt around his fingers. Mark can't see his face clearly in the dim light, but he can feel Eduardo's face flushing hot against his.

"Wardo?"

"I'm loud, okay?" Eduardo hisses. "I… uh… get kinda… uhm… noisy when… and I would like to be able to look Chris and Dustin in the eye again."

"Oh," Mark says, because he's so turned on he can't breathe much less form coherent words.

"That's… uh… that's okay, right?"

Eduardo actually sounds unsure, as if he somehow missed all of Mark's blood relocating south.

"Yes," Mark says weakly. "Yes, that is…"

Eduardo kisses him and it's different this time, messy and desperate, hungry in a way they never let themselves be. Then Mark is pressing him into the bed and his hand is in Eduardo's shorts and Eduardo is making all this _noise_ into his mouth. Mark doesn't give himself time to think about it, doesn't stop to marvel at the feel of Eduardo's dick in his hand, hard and slick, doesn't try to compare or work out a good angle. He just forms his hand into a fist and pulls, fast and rough, coaxing choked-off desperate moans from Eduardo's gorgeous lips.

It doesn't take long, a minute, maybe three, and Eduardo is arching up, pushing hard into his hand, semen spilling over Eduardo's stomach and Mark's fingers, slimy and amazing. Eduardo buries his deep groan of completion into Mark's sweaty neck and his entire body shudders with the aftershocks. Mark kisses him, slick and off kilter, and doesn't let himself say any of the things bubbling up inside.

"Was that okay?" he asks instead, because it occurs to him that Eduardo might not actually have meant the kiss as an invitation to be molested. It comes out a lot more hesitant and unsure than Mark would have liked it.

"Was that… Jesus, Mark," Eduardo pants, and then Mark is on his back and Eduardo's hand is on his dick and he comes so fast and so hard he sees stars. It's embarrassing, really.

Eduardo, ever the practical one, gets a towel from the bathroom to clean them off. He looks kind of ridiculous, with his t-shirt barely reaching below his ass and no pants, but also, really, really hot. Something big and fluttery expands in Mark's chest and he hides his face into the pillows, cheeks flushing hot with something he can't even put a name to.

\--

Having sex, Mark soon realizes, is like opening Pandora's box (or the candy store, if you ask Dustin). He was pretty ridiculous about Eduardo to begin with but this is something else all together. He just can't stop touching him, kissing him, coaxing beautiful, beautiful noises from his gorgeous amazing lips. No matter where he is, or what he's doing, some part of his brain is always calculating when, where and how he can get his hands on Eduardo next. It's terrifying and exhilarating in about equal measures and Mark doesn't know how to deal.

\--

_I have to go home. My dad had a heart attack._

The text is waiting for Mark when he comes out of a coding daze and when he tries to call Eduardo back the call goes to voice mail. It doesn't take many minutes to find out that Eduardo Saverin is booked on a flight to Miami, Florida that is currently airborne. Another few minutes tells him that Victor Saverin was admitted to Mercy Hospital at 7 AM, he stops his research there. It would feel wrong, somehow, to know more about Victor's condition than Eduardo most likely does at the moment.

He sends off a quick text. _I'm sorry to hear that. Call me when you can talk._

It doesn't feel like nearly enough and he huffs out an annoyed breath, pushing the phone across the desk. If there's anything Mark hates, it's waiting.

\--

It's almost midnight when Eduardo finally calls. He sounds exhausted, voice rough and scratchy, but it seems that his dad is going to be fine.

"New meds, less stress and more long walks in the sunshine," Eduardo says, trying to make light of it, but Mark can hear the fear hidden underneath his flippant words.

"I'm just not ready to lose him," Eduardo mumbles later, voice hitching, and Mark knows that's closer to the truth. He's never felt so useless in his life.

\--

Eduardo stays in Miami for a week. It's easily the longest week of Mark's life. TheFacebook is expanding, opening up at Stanford, Columbia and Yale, but not even that is enough to keep Mark from noticing that Eduardo isn't there.

He feels Eduardo's absence like a missing limb and having Eduardo somewhere else and _hurting_ makes him testy and snappish to the point that Chris won't even talk to him. Mark's not used to caring about another person to the extent that he wants them to be happy all the time and it puts him off balance.

This isn't something he can fix, not even with the best will in the world, and he doesn't know how to deal with that. He tries; he texts and calls and sends funny emails and he even talks to Eduardo's professors for him, feeling stupid and infinitely small with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets as he asks for assignments and makes excuses, but he knows that it isn't enough, that it isn't even close to enough, and he doesn't know if he can spend the rest of his life feeling this useless whenever Eduardo's in pain.

\--

Eduardo comes back on late on a Sunday night. Mark's camped out on Eduardo's bed with his laptop across his knees when the door opens and Eduardo walks in. He starts when he sees Mark, pausing with his hand on the doorknob, and Mark worries at his lower lip.

"I… uh… the spare key was at our place," Mark mutters, putting the laptop on the nightstand.

Eduardo drops his bag on the floor and pushes the door shut behind him. "Hi," he says.

He looks exhausted, dark circles around his eyes and a frown etched into the skin between his brows. Mark's chest aches and he wonders if maybe he made a mistake in coming here. He never knows how to deal with people when they're not okay.

He swallows and slides off the bed. "I can go," he murmurs. "If you'd rather be alone."

Eduardo's only answer is to cross the floor and fling himself into Mark's arms, pressing his face into Mark's neck. Mark holds him tight, curling his fingers into Eduardo's suit jacket. He wishes he was taller – bigger – wishes he could extend the reach of his arms to protect Eduardo from ever getting hurt again. It's a terrifying thought.

"I missed you," Eduardo says. He smells like airplane and perfume. Mark holds him tighter.

\--

That night Mark fucks Eduardo for the first time.

"Is this okay?" Mark asks, watching Eduardo's face as he slowly, so very slowly, slips a finger into Eduardo's body for the first time. "You have done this before, right?"

Eduardo chokes out a laugh. "Yes and yes," he says, catching his bottom lip between his teeth.

Eduardo's tight and silky hot on the inside; it seems impossible that Mark will even fit.

"Crook your finger… oh yes _there_."

Eduardo's stomach muscles ripple and his hips lift of the bed, precome trickling thin and viscous from his cock.

"Two," Eduardo says tightly. "Do two."

Mark pulls out and adds more lube before pushing back inside with two fingers. Eduardo moans, his eyes fluttering shut, and it's a very real possibility that Mark will come from just watching him. He crooks his fingers slightly, looking for that spot again. Eduardo shudders when he finds it, helpless noises spilling from his lips.

Mark kisses the inside of his thigh, thrusting his fingers in and out in time with Eduardo's harsh pants.

"Three," Eduardo gasps. "I want…"

Three is a tight fit, Eduardo's body clenching down on him, but Eduardo's cock is still hard and he's keening low in his throat, body taut as a bowstring.

"God," Eduardo moans. "Mark."

His face is flushed red, eyes closed, and he's got his bottom lip between his teeth again. He bears down with his hips on Mark's every slow thrust, moans punched out through his nose. Mark spreads his fingers slightly and Eduardo arches up letting out a guttural groan.

"Now Mark," he pants. "You have to…"

Mark rubs his fingers over that spot, making Eduardo trail off into desperate curses, cock jerking against his stomach.

"Please," Eduardo pants. "Please, Mark, just…"

Mark's fingers tremble as he clumsily rolls the condom on and slicks himself up, before crawling up Eduardo's body to kiss his bitten lips.

"You sure?" he asks shakily, reaching down to hold his cock against Eduardo's opening.

"Fuck yeah," Eduardo mumbles, opening his eyes to look up at Mark.

Mark holds his breath as he pushes forward, watching Eduardo's face for any sign of pain.

"You have to push harder," Eduardo pants, reaching up to tangle one of his hands into Mark's curls. "You won't hurt me."

Mark swallows and nods tightly. It feels a little bit like an exam he didn't study nearly enough for. He wraps his hand hard around the base of his cock and pushes against Eduardo's opening again. This time the head slips past the initial resistance and they both moan, Eduardo's fingers tightening convulsively in Mark's hair.

"Fuck," Mark curses, hips stuttering helplessly. It takes everything he has to hold back.

He can feel Eduardo's chest heaving against his, slick with sweat, and he presses a kiss to the corner of Eduardo's open mouth. Slowly, so very slowly he slides deeper, until his hand ends up squished between their bodies.

"'S okay," Eduardo slurs. "More."

Mark moves his hand so that he's braced on his elbows, pushing forward until he bottoms out. He stays there, panting harshly against Eduardo's face, thighs trembling with the effort of holding still.

"You can move," Eduardo gasps, lifting himself up to kiss Mark.

Mark starts out slow with shallow measured thrusts that make him feel as if his spine has been electrified.

"More," Eduardo moans, wrapping his legs around Mark's back. "You can… more."

"Wardo," Mark groans helplessly, picking up the pace of his thrusts. "Fuck, I'm not going to…"

It feels like magic, like finishing TheFacebook and kissing Eduardo for the very first time. It's huge and amazing and Mark is _inside Eduardo_ and he's not even going to last two minutes. Eduardo keeps making these noises, as if he's feeling so good he just can't help himself, his hips lifting up to meet every thrust.

"Fuck Mark," he groans. "You have to… I'm going to…"

Then Eduardo's hand is between them, jerking his cock desperately, and Mark has to pull back, has to see, and that makes Eduardo's moan trail into a shout, body convulsing.

"Yes… Yes… there… just… ooooh."

Mark struggles to hold back, gripping Eduardo's hips and pulling him into his thrusts while Eduardo's hand flies over his slick swollen cock. It's the hottest thing Mark’s ever seen, Eduardo's chest shining with sweat, the flushed head of his cock peeking out of his tight fist, Eduardo's head lolling against the pillows.

"Mark… I'm… fuck… Maaark."

Mark's name has never sounded hotter than it does choked out in that moment, garbled with the force of Eduardo's orgasm and it's only moments before Mark follows him over the edge, coming so hard the edges of his vision blur.

"Holy shit," he pants, collapsing on top of Eduardo.

He tries to keep his weight off Eduardo's chest as he pulls out and disposes of the condom, balancing precariously on one elbow, but Eduardo doesn't seem to mind, one long leg still wrapped across Mark's bony hip and his hands tangled into Mark's sweaty hair.

"I love you," Eduardo mumbles, a blissed out smile on his face.

Mark's heart stutters and swells and his cheeks flush even brighter. "It doesn't count if you say it after sex," he mutters, because he read that somewhere.

"I'll just have to remind you later then," Eduardo says, pulling Mark down for a kiss.

\--

Mark doesn't sleep that night, he sits next to Eduardo with his laptop, coding until his fingertips ache with it, pausing to run his fingers through Eduardo's tangled hair every time he as much as stirs. He wants to run, fast and far, run until his legs give out and his lungs cave in, but he stays, watching over Eduardo as he sleeps.

\--

Eduardo looks better in the morning, face not quite as drawn, and he smiles as he looks up at Mark.

"Did you sleep at all?" he asks, reaching out to touch one of Mark's wrists.

"Wasn't tired," Mark lies. Eduardo tugs lightly on his wrist, Mark pulls his hand away. "I have class," he mumbles.

\--

Mark feels like an asshole as he snoozes his way through the Art History class he never attends if he can help it. Eduardo's face as he left was a pictured of sleep-rumbled bewilderment, eyes huge and hurt.

Mark isn't completely emotionally stunted, he knows what this is. He knows why his chest feels squished when Eduardo isn't near, he knows why he wants Eduardo to be happy all the time, he knows why he stayed up all night to watch Eduardo sleep as if he's some sort of nightmare-banishing knight, and he knows why his stomach flutters every time Eduardo smiles.

He's in love and it's the worst best thing to ever happen to him.

\--

Eduardo's still in bed when Mark comes back, he must have been even more exhausted than Mark thought. He blinks sleepily up at Mark when he crawls into bed, a smile creeping onto his face.

"You came back," he says, as if he wasn't sure Mark would.

Mark kisses him in response.

\--

It bothers Mark that Eduardo hasn't changed his relationship status. He stares at Eduardo's page every day, but that particular status never changes. _Single,_ it says. Mocking him.

\--

In early May Mark meets Sean Parker for the first time and things pick up speed. Within weeks TheFacebook becomes Facebook has interns and they (Mark, Dustin, Chris and the interns) are renting a house in Palo Alto for the summer. It's exhilarating, all of Mark's dreams coming to fruition, but other things are… not that easy.

\--

"Where's Wardo?" Dustin asks.

"Dunno," Mark mutters, staring intently at his screen, trying to ignore the fact that Dustin is gaping at him from the doorway. "He has some… thing."

"A thing? What kind of thing?"

"Some meeting? I don't fucking know, okay?"

The anger wells up, hot like molten lava, and Mark clenches his hands around the edge of the desk to keep from punching Dustin in the face.

"Oookay, excuse me for asking," Dustin says, his face disappearing from the doorway.

Mark relaxes gradually, his grip of the desk turning from white-knuckled to just tight. He knows exactly where Eduardo is, he's at the bar with Christy, ostensibly to study, but the last time Mark checked, bars were not ideal for studying.

"Okay, spill."

It's Chris this time, coming in to perch at the edge of Mark's bed. Mark ignores him, staring at the useless data rolling past on the screen.

" _Mark._ "

"He's with Christy, okay?" Mark says tightly, figuring it's better to nip the conversation in the bud than to let it drag on.

"Doing what?"

"Studying," Mark mutters. "At the bar."

"They're studying at the bar?"

"That is weird, right?" Mark spins around. "It's not just me."

He cuts himself off, face flushing. He knows he just gave way too much away. Things have been tense with Eduardo lately, weird. The only time Eduardo fully relaxes is after sex, boneless and warm in Mark's arms, the rest of the time he's uncharacteristically snappish and stressed. He's got a lot on his plate with finals coming up and a big internship in New York, but Mark can't help feeling as if he's losing him – losing _everything_.

It doesn't help that Eduardo hates Sean, calling him Prince Charming with an unusual bite to his tone, or that he rekindled his friendship with Christy, who is sweet and pretty and female and everything Mark isn't.

"I don't know," Chris says, with a shrug. "Maybe they study better with alcohol. I know I wish I could be drunk for most of my lectures."

But he looks sad, as if he can tell that Mark is fucking this up too and doesn't know how to let him down easy. Mark nods tightly and turns back to the computer, pulling his headphones on and wiring in. He doesn't hear Chris leave.

\--

Eduardo comes back late, smelling like beer and flowery perfume. Mark fucks him into the mattress, biting marks into his neck and chest, digging his teeth hard into his shoulder. Eduardo is boneless and pliant afterwards, curling easily into Mark's arm, but Mark still has that tight feeling in his chest; it's becoming a permanent fixture.

\--

Mark spends his last day at Harvard in bed with Eduardo. They talk and fuck and kiss and fuck. Mark presses bruises into Eduardo's golden skin, trying to stake his claim, but he knows that the bruises will fade with Eduardo on the other side of the country.

Eduardo sucks a hickey into his neck, claws scratches into his skin, he arches his back and comes with Mark's name on his lips, but it's not enough, it will never be enough.

"I will miss you," Mark whispers, much later, when the sun is long set. He curls his fingers into Eduardo's stupid hair, holding on tight. "I love you so much."

Eduardo's only answer is a soft snore and in the morning they kiss goodbye by the door. "I'll miss you," Eduardo murmurs, lips slick against Mark's.

Mark grunts in response, digging his fingers into Eduardo's hips. He wishes he was a little less scared.

\--

Palo Alto is _hot_ and on the second day Mark gets wicked sunburn on his knees from coding by the pool with his legs in the sun. He whines to Eduardo over the phone, because it's easier to complain about second degree burns than to admit just how much he misses him.

Two days later a package arrives in the mail with After Sun Care Lotion and a bottle of SPF150 sunscreen. A note in Eduardo's loopy handwriting says: _Don't damage the goods._. It makes Mark laugh and hope that maybe this will work after all.

\--

Facebook keeps expanding and without Eduardo around to discourage him, Mark spends days wired in, only coming out of the daze when his stomach screams with hunger and his fingers falter against the keys. He starts missing Eduardo's calls, not by choice but because he doesn't notice the phone ringing, and when he's awake enough to call back it's in the middle of the night in New York.

He sends emails instead, long and rambling, about nothing at all and he hopes that Eduardo can read between the lines and realize how much Mark is floundering without him. He ends every email with _I love you_ , but erases it before he hits send. He doesn't want to enter those words into a vacuum; he wants to be brave enough to whisper them into Eduardo's skin.

\--

It's not easy, because even when they do talk Mark doesn't know the right words to say and with every conversation Eduardo gets a little more distant and a little more guarded. He starts talking about new people, Paul and Jake and Lindsay and Marcus. He goes out for drinks with them, hangs out with them, and Mark pictures them as picture perfect pod-people much better suited for someone like Eduardo than Mark in his rag-tag hoodies, and the right words slip even further away.

Mark doesn't know how to talk about his emotions. He tries, calling his mom for practice, but when he mutters that he loves her, grudgingly, she nearly gets on the next plane to Palo Alto to make sure he's okay. He tells his sisters that he misses them and they call every day for a week to make sure he's not suicidal.

He tells Eduardo about Facebook and coding, about that movie Chris made him watch and how many times he's beat Dustin's PacMan high score. He doesn't say, _I miss you,_ and he doesn't say, _I love you._ He says, _I really miss having sex on a regular basis,_ and, _I wish someone around here cared about feeding me_ , but it's not the same and the fact that he's fucking this up flashes in big neon letters before his eyes every time he hangs up.

\--

"Mark, can I talk to you for a minute?" Chris asks one night, and Mark follows him out on the sundeck even if he doesn't want to. When people say they want to talk to him using that particular voice it rarely means good things.

It's a warm night, like every night in Palo Alto, and Chris leans his elbows against the railing, staring at the lit-up pool.

"Wardo didn't know you before," Chris says without looking at Mark. "He doesn't know how much you've changed."

Mark clamps his mouth shut over his instinctual response that would probably make Chris yell at him and leans back against the wall of the house. It's hot and scratchy against his back, rucking up the thin cotton of his t-shirt. It makes him think of Eduardo's nails digging into his skin and he flushes, looking down on his bare feet against the deck. His toes are dirty and there's a scratch over the top of his left foot from where he stumbled over a discarded bottle.

"Mark," Chris says, turning around to lean against the railing, eyes on Mark's downturned face. "You have to learn how to talk to him, because he can't read your mind. No one can."

"He called you," Mark says tightly, anger flaring up white-hot.

Chris sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. "I wouldn't be having this conversation if I didn't care about the both of you," he says. "And I'm telling you this as a friend. You have to talk to him."

Mark shakes his head angrily and pushes away from the wall. "I can't believe he called you," he says.

"Mark… _Mark._ "

Mark ignores him, pushing his way into the mayhem inside. He grabs a bottle of whiskey out of Dustin's hands, ignoring his outcry of protest, and drinks straight from the bottle on his way to his bedroom. It burns like acid going down, setting his throat on fire, but he doesn't even care.

He drinks steadily, forcing down mouthful after mouthful until half the bottle is gone and the room is spinning. Then he calls Eduardo.

\--

In the morning he wakes up on the bathroom floor with his phone in a pile of vomit. It's probably not a good sign.

\--

Chris looks at him funny when he shuffles into the kitchen and orders one of the interns to clean his phone, and for once Mark doesn't think it's because he's abusing his power.

"What?" he says, when the intern has scurried out clutching Mark's phone between his fingertips.

Chris smiles, the corners of his mouth twitching. "For the record," he says. "Try not to pass out drunk while talking to your boyfriend in the future. He was _very_ upset."

Mark flushes, pulling the fridge open and staring at the meager contents. Doesn't anyone around here grocery shop?

"I'm glad you left the door unlocked or he would have made me break it down."

Mark locates a jar of tuna at the back of the fridge and one lone fork in the cutlery drawer. The kitchen looks like a pig sty, bottles and dirty dishes everywhere; takeout containers in a pile on the stove, bags, boxes and empty cans of Red Bull on the floor.

"Someone should clean this mess up," he says, giving the other intern, James, a meaningful look.

"Mark," Chris sighs, but Mark ignores him, heading back towards his bedroom.

He probably didn't make Eduardo too mad if he made Chris check on him. He can't remember much after the first few seconds of screaming but when he, very reluctantly, checked the call log he found that they talked for over two hours and he probably didn't spend all of that time throwing up.

\--

Somewhere around midday he sends off an email to Eduardo: _I'm sorry if I verbally abused you. I just miss you a whole lot._

It's not much, but he figures it's a start.

\--

Mark spends all day coding, not surfacing until late at night. To his surprise it's raining, water beating against the window panes, sending light reflections in odd patterns against the walls. There's noise coming from the living room, probably another party starting up, and he pushes up from the chair intent on saving the Red Bull before someone starts mixing it with vodka.

He promptly forgets all about the Red Bull once he wanders into the living room because Eduardo is there, arguing about whatever with Sean. (Probably something ridiculous, they don't agree on anything.) Eduardo is soaked to the bone, his shirt clinging to his skin and his hair flattened against his forehead. He's so beautiful Mark can't breathe right.

"Wardo," he says, reaching out to touch and Eduardo spins around pinning with Mark with a stare that is downright scary.

"You," he says, pointing an accusing finger at Mark's face. "Just… shut up."

Then he grabs Mark by his ears and pulls him into a bruising kiss. Mark is getting very mixed signals here.

\--

Mark finds himself manhandled into his bedroom, standing uncertainly in the middle of the floor while Eduardo slams the door shut behind them and locks it tight.

"Dustin," Eduardo says loudly. "If you even think about listening at the door I will skin you alive."

There's a muffled sound from outside and then moments later the door to the living room bangs shut, cutting off the music. Eduardo turns around slowly, dropping his bag on the floor and shrugging out of his jacket.

Mark shifts his feet, biting at his lower lip. Eduardo looks lethal and he's kind of wondering what the fuck he said last night.

"Uh… what are you doing here?" He asks. "Not that I'm not happy to see you," he adds quickly. "Because I am really happy to see you."

Eduardo just shakes his head and starts unbuttoning his shirt. Mark stares dumbly and the revealed inches of golden skin, breath quickening when the shirt joins the jacket on the floor. He stares at Eduardo's dusky nipples, pebbled from the rain, and wonders if he's allowed to touch. Eduardo has an amazing body, tall and lean, with just the right amount of definition. Mark twitches when Eduardo's belt joins the pile on the floor.

"Should I… uh… undress?" he asks, pulling at the hem of his frayed t-shirt.

Eduardo kicks off his shoes and balances on one leg to pull off his socks, even his feet are beautiful.

"So… uhm… I probably didn't mean everything I said last night."

Eduardo stops undressing, fingers stilling on the waistband of his pants. He looks up, eyes boring into Mark's. Mark flushes, but he's not sure why.

"So tell me," he says, advancing on Mark in a way that makes him back up until his knees connect with the edge of the bed. "Which parts was it that you didn't mean?"

"Uh… the bad parts?"

"You mean like calling me an asshole, accusing me of cheating with Christy and yelling irate nonsense about relationship statuses at me for thirty five minutes."

"Yeah," Mark says. "That part… Unless you actually are cheating with Christy because then I will yell at you some more."

Eduardo pushes him down on the bed. Mark's back bounces against the springs, making the bed creak in protest, and he blinks up at Eduardo uncertainly. He's not sure where this is going at all.

"You are so fucking infuriating Mark," Eduardo says, chucking his pants. "I don't know what to do with you."

Mark swallows, staring at Eduardo's lean thighs. "Love me," he suggests weakly.

Eduardo pauses with his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his boxer briefs. "That was sort of the plan," he says, peeling the wet material down his legs.

Eduardo's hard, his cock curling up towards his stomach when it slips free of the damp material and Mark is really very confused now. He knows he's not the best at reading people but this is just weird.

"You're very attractive," he says, shifting his gaze to Eduardo's face.

Eduardo stares at him for a moment and then he starts laughing, which is not really the reaction Mark was hoping for. Then Eduardo's pulling him off the bed and into his arms, pressing soft, soft kisses to Mark's mouth, even though his shoulders are still shaking with suppressed laughter.

"Oh Mark," he says and hugs Mark tight.

Mark wonders if this means they're not having sex, because he was kind of looking forward to that. It's been three weeks and Mark's right hand doesn't have half the skill of Eduardo's everything.

"I'm confused," Mark confesses, slipping his arms around Eduardo's slim waist.

Mark breathes against Eduardo's neck, he smells like airplane and cologne and distantly like peppermint. He thinks back on the last three weeks and holds Eduardo a little tighter.

"I missed you a lot," he murmurs, squeezing his eyes shut because somehow that makes it a lot less embarrassing.

"Yeah," Eduardo says and it sounds mostly like a sigh.

"And I know I'm not good at the relationship stuff, or… uhm… anything but coding and being a smartass really… but… uhm…" He takes a deep breath. "I do love you, kind of a lot, and… if I _had_ to choose between you and… uhm… Facebook…" Another deep breath. "I would choose you but pleasedon'tmakemechoose and I'm trying, you know, to get better at this… but you're not here and uhm…"

"Mark," Eduardo says, his voice a rumble against Mark's ear. Mark can't read the tone of it, doesn't know what it means.

Then Eduardo is pulling away and Mark's heart sinks down to his feet, teeth digging into his lower lip.

"Mark," Eduardo says again, reaching out to cup Mark's face, forcing him to look up.

Mark squirms under the weight of Eduardo's gaze, brown eyes opened wide and pupils blown. He doesn't want to do this face to face, but if he has to, if it's what it takes to keep Eduardo forever, he will.

"Mark…"

"Yes," Mark says curtly. "That is my name."

Eduardo grins with his entire face, huge and so goddamned happy Mark's stomach flutters with it.

"You're ridiculous," Eduardo says.

"Your hair is ridiculous," Mark counters.

"I love you," Eduardo says and Mark doesn't have a good comeback for that, other than to smile so wide his cheeks hurt a little.

"Does it count as after sex if you're naked?" he asks, just to make sure.

Eduardo laughs and kisses him and murmurs, _no_ , against Mark's lips, and Mark thinks that life is pretty spectacularly awesome.

\--

"I thought you were going to break up with me," Eduardo says later, curled up with his head on Mark's chest.

"That's stupid," Mark says, slipping his fingers into Eduardo's still damp hair, but he supposes it's more from perspiration by now than the rain.

Eduardo huffs. "You're stupid."

Mark opens his mouth to protest because he's really not, but then he clamps it shut, because maybe he is a little bit, about certain things. "Why?" he asks instead.

"You got weird," he says. "Well, weirder. After my dad got sick."

Mark stares up at the ceiling. "I was scared," he mutters and he hates that it makes his cheeks flush even now. "You were hurt and I… couldn't help you."

"Are you kidding me, Mark?" Eduardo rolls over, bracing himself on his elbows to stare at Mark and Mark really wishes Eduardo didn't insist on doing that because it's so much harder face-to-face. "I don't… I don't know how I would have gotten through that week without you. You were… amazing and I never… I never thought you'd do that for me."

Eduardo smiles faintly, pushing Mark's curls back from his face and kissing the corner of his mouth. It's so sweet Mark can feel his teeth rot, but somehow he can't bring himself to mind.

"It should probably be noted," Mark mutters. "That I wouldn't do that for anyone but you."

If Eduardo smiled any brighter Mark would need sunglasses. Mark taps his nose and rests back against the pillows.

"So…uh, what did I actually say last night?"

Eduardo laughs, collapsing back against Mark's chest. "Pretty much the same things you told me earlier, but with a lot more screaming, cursing and throwing up."

"The…uh… love bits?"

"Yeah," Eduardo says, nuzzling Mark's collarbone that isn't anywhere near as spectacular as Eduardo's.

"That's… uh… awkward. Not how I planned to tell you at all." A horrendous thought hits him. "I didn't cry, did I?"

Eduardo laughs, pressing a kiss against Mark's shoulder. "Well, you might have sniffled a little, but I'm sure it was just the booze, and the throwing up."

Mark is almost certain Eduardo's just messing with him. Almost.

"I love you," he says and it's actually easier the second (well, third) time.

"It doesn't count if you say it after sex," Eduardo murmurs.

Mark falls asleep with a smile on his face.

\--

In the morning Mark hacks Eduardo's Facebook page and changes his relationship status to _In A Relationship_. Eduardo watches the screen with his chin propped up on Mark's shoulder.

"Huh," he murmurs, pressing a kiss against Mark's neck. "So that's how you do it."

\-- **The End** \--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harvard probably doesn't have a 24-hour coffee shop.
> 
> In the movie Facebook goes live on February 12, in reality I think it was February 4. For the purpose of my plot, it's February 13.
> 
> I have no idea if Eduardo's dorm (wherever that was) had a communal kitchen, but for the purpose of this story, it did.
> 
> I took great liberties with the layout of the Kirkland dorm. I'm pretty sure it didn't have a kitchenette or doors and I think they had a fourth roommate. (Billy, right?)
> 
> You can assume that they live happily ever after, get married, and adopt 2,5 kids.
> 
> Thanks for reading. <333


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